


Easter Challenge: Drabble a Day

by readithoney



Category: Almost Human
Genre: A general lack of direction, An Easter Challenge, Because John loves Dorian, Drabbles, Ficlets, Fluff, John deals with John stuff, M/M, Romance, Spring themes, and Dorian loves John, jorian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 13,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1399864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readithoney/pseuds/readithoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have been tasked to take part in a challenge where we write an Easter Drabble every day in April up until Easter. Much like spring themes, these will be whimsical, silly, sometimes slushy, fluffy, and odd. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. April's Fool

**Author's Note:**

> This challenge comes from WeWillSpockYou, who, by the way, did not give me a choice--and I love her for it. So many thank yous to WeWillSpockYou and NaughtyPastryChef for being my fanficition spirit guides in the last few weeks. You ladies are a force!

**April's Fool**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

For the record, Dr. Rudy Lom didn't want any part of this scheme. Persistent and just a little intimidating, John finally convinced the synthetic dispatch supervisor to comply.

John slapped him on the back entirely too hard when he agreed, nearly knocking the lithe man over. "Alright, good man, Rudy!" John smirked, "For the sake of the holiday, right? Okay," he clapped his hands. "Show me, show me."

Rudy frowned and pulled up a 3D holopic of the DRN android model. He swiped his hands out to zoom in on the head, flipping it so they could see the right side of the face. "Dorian's manual control panel is located here," he pointed to the temple of the model. "Press in like so," he pushed a finger into the holopic and watched a panel slide open. "Voilà."

Arms folded, John studied the panel and chewed the side of his lip, "Okay, so, how do I take him offline?"

A hesitant, slender finger flipped the small switch on the glowing neon holographic panel. "You'll disconnect him from the neural-network this way," Rudy said.

John rubbed his hands together in excitement. "And if I do this while he is charging, he won't wake up?"

Rudy frowned, "John, don't you think it is a little mean? Not to mention an invasion of privacy?"

"You're one to talk."

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Rudy continued, "He won't be able to send or receive transmissions or information. He'll be completely cut off."

John grinned, clapping Rudy on the shoulder again as he headed for the exit. "I know. That way he'll believe me when I tell him Maldonado ordered to have him decommissioned."

Rudy rubbed his arm, certain that he was going to be bruised later from this visit by John "I need a favor" Kennex.

. . . . . . . . . . .

John sat dazed on the bathroom counter holding a bloody tissue to his nose while Dorian fussed over him.

"Sorry, John, sorry," Dorian said the umpteenth time, attempting to plant a kiss on John's forehead but getting batted at angrily.

John's nose wasn't broken but it was battered pretty good and a deep purple bruise was forming under each eye.

"I didn't mean to lash out, but you were in my control panel," Dorian explained.

John groaned and said in a whiney, stuffy voice from his clogged nose, "You coldcocked me."

"What were you hoping to accomplish in my manual controls, John?" Dorian asked, daring to place a hand on John's knee and squeeze. He dodged a clumsy kick.

John was stumped. He had no idea what to say to this. He certainly didn't intend to tell the truth. "Quick bugging me, I have a headache."

"You were out for a while. I think you may have a concussion."

John's phone rang in his pocket and he dug it out, staring at the screen past the bloody wad of tissues on his face. It was Rudy. He answered.

"How'd it go, John?" he sounded almost amused, anticipatory.

"He woke up," John growled, "and nearly broke my face."

"Oh, well, I forgot to tell you that opening the manual control triggers self-defense mode. It keeps the police androids safe from hacks."

John simmered silently.

"A-April fool's!" Rudy shouted awkwardly and hung up.

Dorian quirked an eyebrow. John pocketed his phone, tossed the bloody tissues at the garbage can, and slid off the counter.

"Where you going?" Dorian asked the unsteady human who tottered a moment before falling backwards. Dorian caught him carefully and lifted him up.

"Gon' kill Rudy."

Dorian dragged him to the couch, inspecting his pupils. "You can kill Rudy tomorrow, sweetheart." He peered into John's face, "What year is it, buddy?"

"2050," John growled, then shifted his eyes to the side and pouted, "April fucking first."

 


	2. Shopping Seasons

**Shopping Seasons**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

For fuck's sake, the moment they move those absurd heart-shaped boxes of chocolate to the discount bin, the aisles fill with plastic eggs, plastic grass, rubber baskets, and the same cheap, waxy chocolate that was in the hearts only now it's trapped in eggs, or shaped like rabbits.

Dorian is holding up a plush bunny, inspecting it. He shows it to me like he wants me to comment.

"Horrible," I say. He frowns and presses his lips together at my dismissal.

"We should get a child," he says absent mindedly squeezing the toy to his chest, admiring all the cute shit in bins in all directions.

Oh Jesus, here we go again. _This_. This is the last thing I need. Though, when I think of Dorian holding a baby...

"Synthetic calibration incomplete," my leg blurts to the whole fucking world, as if having a synthetic leg isn't bad enough. I'm temporarily locked in place and I cling to the nearby shelf of peeps to steady myself. "Synthetic calibration incomplete." Why make it look like a real leg, match my skin tone, move like real muscle, and then put a big fucking speaker on the side that squawks every time there's a blip?

Dorian stops touching the pastel kitsch in favor of fussing over me. Some woman pushing a brat in a cart stops to stare at us. I can't tell if it's because I look miserable, or my loud leg, or my colorful language, or because my android boyfriend has his hands all over me like an octopus.

Her dumb-looking kid points at me.

"Easter bunny's dead," I snap, sending the little boy into a full on fit and the woman glowers and shoves her cart off, pawing at her son.

Dorian gives me a furious look but I know he loves me anyhow. But, just to be certain, I buy him that stupid plush bunny.


	3. Ducking Around

**Ducking Around**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

John was doing paperwork, tapping away at his light screen, filling out reports, a headache throbbing painfully behind his right eye. His teeth ached from clenching them. Dorian usually did all their paperwork and John just signed his name, but his android partner was out for a week of maintenance. He missed him in the office and the bedroom, but right now he missed him in the office the most.

John heard a small beeping noise coming from inside his desk and he opened the top drawer, rummaging through the collection of electronics within, determined to find which one was noisily running out of battery power. None that he could tell. The beeping continued but as he listened, it sounded less like beeping and more like peeping.

He opened another drawer to find a little baby chick, bright yellow, looking up at him from a nest of shredded paper.

"'the hell is this?" John asked, looking around for clues.

He stared at the little yellow thing in annoyance. It probably had lice or other little bugs. Birds were filthy things.

"Uhh, anyone lose their tiny chicken?" he asked the room.

Valerie Stahl gave him a curious look and came over, cooing at the little thing. "Oh John, it's so cute," she mewled.

"You can have it," John said. His hands moved to pick the thing up but his desire to not touch it held him back.

"Oh," Valerie said, "Thank you John, but no. No." She laughed at the absurdity. "I can't take care of that little guy. I'm too busy."

John balked as she returned to her workspace. He was too busy, too. "Paul?" he asked, pointing at the chick.

"Aw hell no," Richard said, smirking in disbelief and turning back to his MX.

John glared at the bird. It peeped up at him. Unsure of what to do, he slowly shut the drawer.

" _Peep, peep."_

John sighed and leaned his head down, his fingers laced in his hair. If this was a prank, it wasn't funny. He heard a thump in the lower drawer and sat up. He opened it hesitantly, peering inside. A little bunny munching on greens peered up at him, floppy ears twitching in fear.

"Seriously?" John asked the universe. What next?

" _Peep, peep."_

John wasn't sure what to do. He didn't want these animals. He didn't wish harm on them...he just wished they would go away, or die. "Seriously, who put woodland creatures in my desk?" he demanded.

An MX nearby felt compelled to inform him that chickens were not woodland creatures.

John grumbled, kicking the desk. The bunny thumped around in response to the loud noise.

The peeping increased. He opened the drawer and did a double take. There were more chicks now, at least a dozen. They started to overflow, multiplying out of the drawer in a wave of fuzzy, fluffy, yellow adorableness. John stood up in shock. The bottom drawer opened under the pressure and bunnies began hopping out one after another. Everyone was staring at him.

He stumbled back, tripping over a lamb and crashing to the ground. It gave him an innocent, indignant look. He shoved at it gently, shooing it away.

A sea of ducks waddled by, crowding around his head. "Fucking seriously?" John shouted, jerking to move his face away from the filthy creatures.

The animals seemed drawn to him, covering him. "Get off, get away!" he said, writhing on the floor in a frenzy. "Fucking, what is, ah, fucking, happening. Jesus." His legs felt dead under the weight of the critters.

He twisted, finding it impossible to get up. Everyone was looking at him. He could feel his breath catching in his chest and his cheeks burning. He was panicked.

Captain Maldonado stepped out of her office and ear-piercingly shouted, "Kennex!"

John woke in a cold sweat. He was in his bedroom, in his bed. Dorian pulled him close. "You had a nightmare?"

"Yeah," John said, patting his chest. "I dreamt you were gone and I had to do my own paperwork. It was terrible."

Dorian kissed his temple.

John stared at the ceiling, mopping the sugary drool off his mouth with the side of his wrist. No more Easter candy after midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title inspired by a good friend who gets censored by her autocorrect.


	4. Egg Hunt

**Egg Hunt**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Getting John to talk about his childhood is like performing a non-invasive surgery. Everything is delicate and deft, you can't see very well, and one wrong move and it's game over. With Easter coming up, Dorian thought this might be a good time to casually probe for details. The human was reading his cell-o at the breakfast table, having downloaded the morning paper. He dribbled milk down his shirt and smeared it off with a napkin.

"Easter's coming up, John." Dorian measured his heart rate, watched his eyes move. They rolled.

"And?"

Determined not to let John freeze him out, Dorian persisted. "What do you usually do to celebrate?"

"I sleep in, stay home from work." John took another messy bite of cereal, his eyes never lifting off the cell-o. "Then I eat breakfast, read the paper, and enjoy not having to answer any dumb questions."

"Did your mom make a big dinner when you were growing up?"

Giving up, John flexed the cell-o off and slung it on the table. "Of course. She made a ham." He looked at the android, who was genuinely interested. "You know, I can smell it cooking if I close my eyes. She'd cover it in pineapple, candied cherries, and cloves. It made the whole house smell amazing." His mouth was watering. "I miss her cooking."

For once, Dorian didn't even need to prompt John; a captive audience was enough to send him down memory lane. He explained egg hunting, pined for jelly beans, and laughed about lost eggs rotting under the couch. Blissfully, the DRN logged all of this information, smiling at his animated boyfriend.

. . .

When John woke on Easter, it was to the smell of glazed ham in the oven. On his bed stand stood a colorful basket brimming with sugary snacks.  _Dorian_  he thought wistfully, inhaling the scent coming from the kitchen. He felt loved, indulged. That is, until he put his foot on the ground and crunched onto a hardboiled egg, smashing it into the rug.

"Seriously?" he drawled in annoyance, looking at the mess and allowing his mood to sag. Then, with horror, he looked around the room and saw hundreds of eggs. Each one intricately decorated, perched on every surface of the bedroom. It must have taken Dorian all night to do all this. That could only mean one thing…

"Look who's up!" Dorian practically shouted, walking in and dodging eggs in his path, pulling John into a rough embrace and kissing him passionately. "How's my sleepy detective? Oh you look so scruffy." Dorian rubbed a hand through John's bedheaded hair impetuously. John struggled for freedom and composure.

"Go charge," John said flatly, unraveling Dorian's arms from his person.

"Happy Easter, Baby." The DRN pressed his lips into John's neck and slipped his hand up his shorts.

"Dee, go charge." John squirmed away.

After giving John explicit instructions not to touch the oven or the ham, or go anywhere near the kitchen, Dorian finally went off to recharge. John, still cursing under his breath for oversharing the day before, set about collecting the eggs from all over the house, crawling around on his hands and knees to pull them from every nook and cranny. It took forever and he probably broke the record for filthiest cursing during an Easter celebration.

However, later, when Dee emerged refreshed and pulled the perfect ham out of the oven, John found a way to forgive him.


	5. The Bends

**The Bends**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

The department store was a zoo today and John's plans were as follows: Get in, find Dorian a nice outfit for the dinner party, pay, and then get the fuck out of there as fast as possible. He didn't want to have a dinner party for Easter and he didn't want to shop for clothes so he was about as pleasant as one might expect.

"What do you think of this suit jacket with this shirt?" Dorian asked, holding up a sharp-looking, perfectly-coordinated outfit. "Is it too formal for the occasion?"

"'The fuck are all these people here for?" John asked, looking around the store in angry bewilderment.

Snapping his fingers to get John to focus, Dorian asked, "What are  _you_  going to wear? That should help me decide."

"We're having the dinner at my place," the detective said, still distracted. "I'll be wearing my pajamas."

Dorian looked horrified and slung his outfit over his arm and immediately began picking out something for John, as well. "Like hell you are," he muttered. John was turned again, trying to determine why there was a crowd forming on the far end of the store. Dorian took advantage of his turned back to dig at the man's shirt collar and find the tag to check his size. John pulled out of Dorian's grip and headed toward the crowd.

Sighing in exasperation, Dorian waved him off. He knew John's measurements.

John wandered toward the crowd and saw a meandering line of people queued up in front of a ridiculously fluffy stage covered with a big white throne and oversized plastic eggs. He walked past the line of people with their bouncing young children dressed in their Sunday best. A cameraman was framing the shot while workers told children that the Easter Bunny was on his way with saccharine excitement.

"Sir, the line forms back there," said a woman dressed like a chicken, or rather, dressed like the idea of a chicken. She pointed down past the sea of people.

John nodded and folded his arms, not budging. He had no kids with him; did she expect him to get a picture with the stupid rabbit?

When the Easter Bunny made his appearance, there was a high pitched squeal from the children in the line so loud that John jammed his fingers in his ears while waiting for it to die down. He imagined that the deafening screech caused dogs to bark in a three district radius.

This bunny looked rough. Part of the furry pink outfit had a strange stain on it and it looked like it had been hastily cleaned up and was still damp. He stumbled to the chair rather than hopped and when he sat down, his big plastic head made a hollow "PLUNK" sound against the back of the chair. The workers exchanged concerned looks and a woman on the stage whipped the kids into another frenzy by shouting, "Look who it is, kids! Peter Cottontail!" More screaming.

John squinted at the bunny suspiciously as the first child was brought up and placed on his lap. He held onto her with creepy, gloved, human hands and sat up for the picture. It was a good thing bunnies don't talk, because John was pretty sure this bunny was incapable in his current state. The little girl ran back to her mommy who was waiting for the picture to print out and announced, "The easter bunny is stinky."

John assessed the scruffy pink outfit and determined that the stain on the front was vomit. It had a slightly green tint to it. He'd seen enough. He pulled out his badge and stormed up to the stage, preventing the worker from placing the next child on the poor excuse for a holiday mascot. Without a thought, he seized one of the floppy ears and pulled the head right off the suit.

The shrill sound of children screaming assaulted his ears yet again, though this time the screams took on the edgier pitch of hysteria. The man in the suit gave him a dazed look. Traces of neon green slime were smattered around his nose and mouth. Clearly, he was a bends addict. John grabbed the man by the front of the sweaty pink fur suit and tossed him to the ground on his stomach, eliciting more screams of terror from his audience of children. John bit back a queasy feeling, this sonnovabitch really did stink.

"You have the right to remain silent." John began rattling off the Miranda as he cuffed the Easter bunny, his knee planted deep in the drug addict's back.

He looked up and saw Dorian watching in horror, his arms strung with a dozen shirts. "John, what are you doing?"

Angry parents were heading for the exits and many more were heading for the main office to file a complaint.

"He's high as a fucking kite," John said, his voice squeakier and more argumentative than he would have liked, feeling like he just saved the day. Why the hell was everyone so upset? "You want all these kids to sit on this guy's lap?" He lifted the man's head by his hair, a line of green drool trailing from his cracked lips to the cotton covered stage.

Dorian looked around apologetically. The store manager approached John, heatedly requesting that he escort the man to the staff lounge, out of sight of the public.

John hoisted the bunny back up onto his feet and looked at the crowd. At least fifty people had their cell phones on him.

A week later, at the dinner party, John seethed at the table while stuffed into an outfit that, embarrassingly, matched Dorian's. Everyone was laughing about the viral video that made John a Youtube sensation this week. It had been posted under the exhausting title: "Peter Caught-in-Jail: Idiot cop traumatizes kids, ruins Easter."


	6. John goes to Church

**John goes to Church**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

I don't  _need_  anger management anymore. Group hasn't started yet but Dorian thinks getting places ten minutes early is good manners, so here I sit in the circle of folding chairs under the buzzing, yellow overhead lighting in the mildewed basement of this old downtown church. I snatch a stale cup of coffee from the robot hovering past, thinking briefly about the brilliant chaos I could cause by giving the floating disk a good kick. Hot coffee and little robot parts would spiral across the room...fuck, I'm bored.

Cathy, one of the women who seems like the nicest lady on earth but is in here for setting her husband's truck on fire with him in it, walks in the door with a big smile on her crazy face, carrying a sheet cake shaped like a bunny and covered in coconut frosting. She's got my attention. I don't want to go right for the cake so I stalk it, watch her walk it to the table, and wait for someone else to go up first. There goes Gary. I can always count on him to embarrass himself. He chops off a tiny part of the ear and flops it onto one of the paper plates. Poor bastard took the worst part of the cake. I have my heart set on getting one, or preferably both, of the jelly bean eyes.

Before I know what's happening, a line has formed.  _Dammit to hell_. I'm up and in the line fast but I'm at the back. Fuck, they are taking so much. I see one of the real bastards of the group get one of the eyes and fantasize about stabbing him with a plastic fork. Inching slowly forward, I turn my annoyance to the people cutting big pieces. That's just rude. I kick myself for waiting and giving a shit about appearances. I would have had a  _huge_ piece if I hadn't hesitated.

We're moving...I'm trying to see around the person in front of me as they get their cake. By the time I step up to the table there is nothing left but crumbs and a few gooey globs of coconut shavings in white frosting. These assholes ate the whole damn cake. I look slowly across the room, thinking up elaborate deaths for all of them. I decide that is unfair and channel all my ill will on Cathy. How could she bring such a small cake? It would have been much bigger if she hadn't mutilated it to look like a stupid rabbit. Who cares about Easter anyhow?

I kick my chair around and plop down on it, straddling it backwards. Snapping my fingers at the coffee robot, I glower at all these cake-eaters. I hope they all choke.

I don't need this stupid anger management anymore!


	7. The Sting Operation

**The Sting Operation**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

John and Dorian were uniformed. John hadn't worked in a uniform in over eight years, but he was learning an important lesson about anger management from Captain Maldonado. Namely, that he was one more injured or dead MX away from walking a beat again.

For today's punishment, he was working a crowd at an Easter event in the middle of a park, watching children run around in frilly dresses and way-too-grown up suits. Dorian was having a great time; he even liked the uniform. John felt like one of the little boys running around them, dressed up to make an impression.

"Cheer up, John," Dorian said. "It's a beautiful day."

John glared away from the sun. "Haven't been in a monkey suit in a long time."

"I think you look handsome," Dorian said calmly, smiling out the side of his mouth.

The dewy grass on John's shiny shoes and pant cuffs added to his suffering as he watched a child stumble blindly around a brightly colored egg without seeing it. If it was a snake it would have bit him. Daydreaming, John thought about how cool it would be if all the eggs had baby snakes in them, ready to spring out at any moment.

A buzzing noise in his ear distracted his impish thoughts and John dipped and swatted at the air.

"Ouch! Ffff—ffff—ah" John stuttered, remembering not to curse in front of the children and gripping at his neck.

The bee sting seared with pain and he held his hand over it while waiting for the burn to pass.

Dorian looked concerned, as did a group of mothers standing nearby in their pastel cardigans. Several approached, taking charge of the situation, swarming around John in a protective circle.

One woman peeled John's hand forcibly off his neck and inspected the angry red welt. "Stinger's still in there," she announced, digging through her handbag.

The woman beside her whistled. "It's really swelling. Are you allergic to bees, sweetie?"

John looked wide-eyed, searching for an escape. "Dorian?" he called out, "Dee!"

"He is allergic," he heard Dorian announce from behind the wall of mothers. There was a gasp and chatter from the pack of concerned mothers.

"Where is your EpiPen, honeybunny?" another woman asked, already patting down his pockets, looking for it. Her hands were all over him, making him squirm.

John felt his throat swelling, adding to the panic of the situation. He shook his head desperately and managed to squeak out, "Don't have one."

There was a collective sigh from the women around him and they began to lecture about how foolish that was while simultaneously devising a plan.

The first woman celebrated with a loud, "Ah-ha!" while still searching her purse and pulled out a pair of tweezers. "Hold still, pun'kin," she said, "let me pull that stinger out."

He twisted toward freedom and immediately felt a host of strong hands on him, steadying him. The woman tenderly dug the stinger out with her tweezers and then showed it to him. "Look at that, it was a big one!"

John was wheezing for air, looking for an escape.

"I found an EpiPen," another mom said, having run to her car to retrieve it. The troupe of mothers made a path for her as she hurried towards him. "Hold still, sweetiepie, this will only sting for a minute." John felt the pinch of a needle against his thigh. It hurt like hell as she held it there, letting the medicine release.

He was escorted—or rather, dragged and pushed—by his entourage of mothers to a nearby picnic table, where he was told to sit down and then  _forced_  to sit down. There wasn't much room for argument with this group.

As the swelling went down, John found himself drinking a juice box while someone patted his hand and told him he should really carry his own EpiPen if he is that allergic. Someone else was asking if the injection site still hurt while two sets of hands on his neck inspected the bee sting and assessed the swelling, little  _tut tut_  noises coming from all directions.

Glowering at Dorian who still stood on duty across the park, John sipped the sickeningly sweet juice from the waxy, cardboard pouch and decided that he'd never ever piss off Sandra Maldonado ever again.


	8. 'the Hell is Brunch?

' **the Hell is Brunch?**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

John Kennex and Dorian were walking from the public parking garage on a bright Saturday morning, enjoying the spring weather. Well, Dorian was enjoying the emerging greenery while John shivered in his jacket and twisted his hands around a coffee for warmth. A miserable wrinkle in his lips indicated his displeasure with their current activity.

"You should have worn a warmer coat, John," Dorian said, stopping to take his own coat off. He added it to John's shoulders. The freezing man tossed his empty coffee in the trash and strung his arms through the big blue coat and felt instantly warmer. Dorian was surprised and pleased that John didn't protest. He was unwinding, becoming more comfortable. Or-he was just  _really_ fucking cold.

"I hate this weather," John said. "Sun is out, blue sky, but it's cold and wet. It is a trick."

Dorian's mouth framed in a smile. Only John would see weather as a trick.

They finally reached their destination. An upscale hotel in the nicest downtown district. Dorian held the door and ushered John in, nudging him playfully as he passed in an attempt to knock the scowl off his face.

John hung both coats up in the space provided, a growing sense of unease in the posh space. Soon they were seated awkwardly in the hotel restaurant at a table with white linens and heavy silverware. A short little clump of flowers in a milk glass vase stood in the middle of the table and obstructed John's view of Dorian a little, forcing his eyebrows to quirk in irritation.

A waiter dressed like a butler brought them drinks without asking. John took an uncultured gulp of the mimosa and looked around the room warily. It was mostly women at the other tables and everyone was dressed way nicer. "Dee," he hissed, "why are we here? Can't we have blinner, or breakfunch, or whatever at home?"

"Brunch," Dorian corrected, "and don't pretend you didn't know." John was embarrassing him just a little. His whispers were often louder than his speaking voice.

"You don't even eat," John argued, still speaking hushed. He felt uncomfortably close to the other tables. He glared at a woman to his right who was looking at them, haughty with judgment.

"It isn't about the food," Dorian said, "it's the atmosphere. The conversation. An Easter tradition. It's the—"

Dorian paused and looked at the anxious expression on John's face as he drained the mimosa, tipping the glass up into the air to finish it.

A small smile unfolded on Dorian's lips. "Hey, let's get out of here, John," he said reassuringly, smiling with his eyes. John didn't need to be told twice. He nodded eagerly, standing up quick and letting the cloth napkin on his lap fall to the floor, bumping into someone's grandma on his way to the exit. Dorian followed, making small apologies in John's wake.

John pulled on his jacket and then slid Dorian's coat over the top of it and bundled himself up, skipping several buttons in his haste. They walked out of the hotel and headed back for the cruiser.

Once outside, walking a few steps, John turned to Dorian, "That was the gayest thing you ever made me do, Dee," he accused.

Dorian made a face. He silently and respectfully disagreed, smiling a private smile while thinking about the night before. He kept his amusement to himself.

Dorian drove them, stopping and buying John a box of hot doughnuts and a coffee through a drive-through window. They parked by the harbor and sat in the cruiser, watching wealthy people uncover their boats and prep for the warmer seasons ahead.

Covered in sugar and doughnut crumbles, John grinned at Dorian and said, "Now  _this_  is brunch."

Dorian could not have agreed less.


	9. The Hunt

**The Hunt**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

John had a black eye and a split lip as he sat in the back of his own cruiser, his hands cuffed behind his back.

Dorian gave him a dark look as he slammed the door, locking the man inside. John's knuckles oozed blood against the seatback. He had a big smile on his face, which caused his busted lip to drool blood into his teeth. A group of children looking in the window looked more than a little terrified as their mother pulled them away.

The other guy looked much worse, he convinced himself. John got a lot of blows in before Dorian dragged him away, slapping him in cuffs.

The whole scene had escalated from a simple egg hunt. All the children were searching the shaggy grass for eggs, their little baskets skimming the ground as they hunted with wild eyes. John had wanted to propose to Dorian at the gazebo in the park. It seemed romantic in the cheesy way Dorian liked. Also, proposing on a holiday was a secret way for John to always remember the date without having to try.

He hadn't expected the sea of children looking for eggs. "Why are we here?" Dorian had asked, beaming at the tiny humans everywhere.

John abandoned his proposal immediately. He'd try again on the next holiday—uhh, Cinco de Mayo, he guessed.

"Just here to watch the egg hunt," John lied, brushing his palm over the ring box in his pocket and folding his arms in a huff.

Dorian seemed content. John sat in the gazebo and watched the children scramble. There was one kid acting like a bully and when John saw him knock a little girl over, he marched over to lay down some law.

"Hey kid," he barked, "that wasn't very nice."

"Hey, buddy," a meaty hand landed on John's shoulder as he turned and stood face to face with the kid's dad, "leave my fucking son alone." The booming curse sliced through the cheery morning air, puckering the faces of the nearby mothers and causing many children to freeze uncomfortably before resuming their mad dash for treasures.

"Your son is a bully," John announced.

"Where are your damn kids?" the man sneered, looking around, "Why don't you and your  _synthetic_  get the hell away from here." He gestured a thumb in Dorian's direction.

The fistfight wasn't John's fault. Well, it wasn't entirely John's fault.  _Well_ —John  _did_ start it, but it was completely necessary. No one calls his Dorian a synthetic.

Easter was ruined by the heavy fists of the men beating on each other ruthlessly. At one point, John was pinned in the grass, the man's jerk son kicking him in the head.

Dorian separated them but John had been on the warpath. The cuffs surprised John and now he sat in the car getting some important cool off time while the pissed off android smoothed things out. John watched with a happy smile as his boyfriend heroically saved Easter.

The smile didn't last long however, as the cute little girl he had defended passed by the car window, she was holding a little black egg. Wait, it wasn't an egg…

John shouted at the child to stop, as her mother dragged her by, giving John a look of contempt as he screamed. Clearly he was a mad man.

John hollered and kicked and screamed, attempting to escape the cruiser but finding it impossible.

He fogged the glass of the window shouting for Dorian to release him. If the DRN could hear him, he showed no indication.

John watched the child get loaded into a minivan then he watched the minivan drive away with his engagement bands inside. He must have dropped them during the fight.

John bit out a long, sour stream of curse words.

An hour later, Dorian finally returned and dropped in behind the wheel. He drove them home, leaving John cuffed for the duration of the ride, chewing him out for the appalling scene all the way home. John didn't hear a word of it, he was too busy mourning his rings.

When he pulled the car into the garage and yanked John out, the man's almost wet, shiny eyes and miserable face broke his android heart. He quickly stripped the cuffs off and pulled John into a warm hug.

"It's okay," he said, "You were trying to defend that little girl. Come on, let's go in and take care of your face and knuckles" Dorian kicked himself for being too upset with the man earlier.

"I was defending  _you_ ," John corrected, blinking the sadness out of his eyes. They were  _just_  rings, it was  _only_  money.

Dorian examined John's face so sweetly that the tough detective felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes again. Goddammit, he wanted to marry Dorian more than ever and it was tugging at his pathetic soul.

John sat while Dorian held a disinfector light over his cuts, especially over his split knuckles. This sure wasn't how he thought the day would go. Next time, once he got some new rings, he'd make sure they were alone.


	10. Community Service

**Community Service**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

The precinct was not a place for children. John has said it over and over again, and yet here they were, prepping the space for an Easter egg hunt that was also a charity drive. In a few short hours, this whole place would be swelling with parents and kids making a lot of noise, leaving smudgy handprints on the glass, and dropping candy wrappers and Band-Aid wrappers and god knows what else all over the place.

There was a bustle of detectives, officers, staffers, and volunteers hanging up decorations, putting out snacks, and clearing up loose papers and clutter. Everyone was working away in preparation for the celebration and making sure things were perfect.

Detective Paul was helping a team of MXs scatter eggs in the courtyard, which had been recently landscaped for the occasion. The whine of a helium tank could be heard intermittently as Dorian filled balloons. Valerie was making little gift bags for the kids and was currently searching frantically for a lost bag of jelly beans. Everyone was pitching in today.

In the midst of it all, John Kennex was tilted back in his chair, booted feet up on the desk, absolutely cramming a sugar doughnut into his mouth. He had Valerie's bag of jelly beans hidden in the desk drawer, out of sight but just within reach.

"This would go faster if you'd help me by tying the ribbon on these balloons, John," Dorian suggested.

John took another slow bite of doughnut and stretched until he could reach his coffee cup. "Rather be dead." He gave his partner a quick side-smile.

" _Kennex!_ " The captain's voice nearly toppled him. He loved Sandra Maldonado but she only had two volumes and lately, when it came to him, she only used the highest one. The short but fierce woman approached him with arms akimbo, examining his lazy pose and the sugar mess on his chest. "Since you can't find something to do out here, I have a job for you." She crooked a finger.

John swallowed his last bite of doughnut like a lump in his throat and reluctantly peeled out of the chair. He followed Sandy down the corridor, a growing sense of unease in the pit of his stomach.

When she opened a dark closet and shoved him in, turning on the light, the hideous, fluffy, pink and white bunny outfit hanging there nearly scared him out of his skin.

"No fucking way," he said, backing up and nearly tripping.

"You're the perfect size." She grinned, but gave no indication of relenting. "You're gonna put it on, you're gonna hop your ass around, and then you're gonna hold each kid on your lap for a picture."

"No," John said again. "Look I confess, I took the Jelly beans. I'll go to the store and get more. Or, you could arrest me for stealing." He held out his wrists to her, as if accepting cuffs.

"This is a more fitting punishment," she said coolly. "If I see one child crying about something the Easter bunny did or said, you'll be working petty theft cases for the next three months. Exclusively."

John looked like a kicked puppy. He started shaking his head.

"You gonna put it on or do I need to get some MXs down here to  _make_  you put it on?"

John picked up the horrible suit reluctantly and Maldonado closed the door.

An hour later, covered in grass stains and children, sweat pouring from his hairline, down the small of his back and past the crack of his ass, John decided he fucking motherfucking hated Easter.


	11. The Lent Torment

**The Lent Torment**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

John never gave anything up for Lent, ever. It wasn't his scene. However, he loved to watch his coworkers suffer and discuss the ramifications of their chosen restrictions. Moreover, John liked to tempt people observing Lent, which wasn't a very nice thing to do. If his mother was alive and watching, he'd have the good sense to look embarrassed.

He was quite happy when he discovered through eavesdropping on office gossip that Rudy had given up sugar this year, Richard promised to lay off caffeine, and the captain was attempting not to curse or yell. John thought all of this was far too easy.

Every morning, John had doughnuts or other sweets delivered to Rudy's lab. He was considerate, always making sure the sugary snacks were paid in full. Then he'd send waves of MXs to Richard with coffee throughout the day, watching the angry, short detective get increasingly frustrated with each delivery. As for Maldonado, John sent a fake report across her desk, outlining various mishaps in the field each day. Each one, increasingly alarming, would send her into a frenzy until she called and discovered it simply wasn't true.

By the end of the first week, the workplace had turned hostile.

Rudy was experiencing high levels of frustration with the cake deliveries and pink boxes of snacks constantly turning up in his laboratory. As a result, he was growing increasingly belligerent with each passing day. On Friday, when a young man entered the lab with a tray of muffins from the bakery down the street, Rudy loudly instructed the poor delivery boy to "go fuck off and die." Never in his life had such language escaped his lips, and certainly never directed at another person.

Richard was beginning to respond violently any time he saw an MX holding a cup and had started eating copious amounts of the doughnuts and cookies that Rudy rejected each day.

Maldonado was on the prowl to find the prankster who was making her life a living hell, and in the meantime she was guzzling coffee like it was going out of style. She was so jittery that the normally perfect bun atop her head was lopsided and loose strands fell in wisps around her face.

John admired his handiwork. He hadn't convinced any of them to break their own promises yet, but he had managed to get each of them to pick up a nasty new habit.

Over the weekend, Dorian commented that the work week seemed rougher than usual and wondered if it was due to the vernal equinox.

Watching TV with his head perched on Dorian's thigh and his body along the length of the couch, John snickered. "You think the length of the day has that kind of an effect on humans, Dee?" he scoffed, annoyed that his brilliant scheme might be credited to the path of the planet.

Dorian shrugged. Humans were complicated at times, affected by the strangest things.

Unable to contain himself, John propped himself up on the couch and laid out his brilliant plan to Dorian, cackling at the details and slapping his own knee in glee.

The android listened in absolute horror, his mouth open and his eyebrows knitting closer together with each newly revealed detail.

The next week, no pink boxes arrived in Rudy's lab, no MXs handed coffee to Richard, and no false reports passed Maldonado's desk. It was much easier for everyone to keep their Lenten promises with added encouragement from Dorian.

John, however, had a terrible week. Banned from caffeine, sugar, and cursing under the all-too-vigilant eye of his DRN boyfriend, he was forced to eat sugar-free oatmeal (which tasted like a bowl of craft paste), drink water like a chump, and he chewed his bottom lip raw in an attempt to keep from swearing - a useless endeavor.

After a few days of torture and penance, John dared to ask his watchful lover how long he had to keep up with this elaborate sanctioning of his language and intake. Dorian felt no pity for John when he told him his ban on sugar, caffeine, and curse words would end on Easter morning.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" John shouted, appalled that he had twenty days of purgatory left to endure.

"John," Dorian admonished, "that's fifty." He withdrew the steepest penalty for swearing from John's coin account while the human pushed a heavy sigh out his nose in disgust. With John's track record, come Easter, Dorian was going to be rich.


	12. Easter Dinner

**Easter Dinner**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

The ham looked gorgeous. Just like his mom used to make. Dorian did a great job on it. It was colorfully coated in pineapple and glaze. Even the cloves were perfectly, evenly spaced.

John studied the note on the counter. Dorian was at a charity event at the station that John had begged out of in exchange for preparing for Easter dinner. Valerie and her obnoxiously good-looking chrome boyfriend, Sandra Maldonado and a mystery plus-one, and, for some reason, Richard Paul and his mother were all coming over. It was going to be the worst day ever and they had already had three fights over Dorian's growing guest list.

The note contained a list of things that needed to be accomplished. All of it scrawled in Dorian's perfect, Garamond font handwriting.

_1\. Put the ham in the oven at 325 degrees (the ham is in the fridge)_

Well, duh. That was easy enough. John admired the ham a minute more then opened the oven and slid it inside. He poked at the buttons, getting the temperature to 325. Nothing seemed to be happening. He had to admit, he wasn't too familiar with this oven. He tried to start over by hitting the "clear" button. Miraculously, that seemed to turn it on.

He slapped his hands together in accomplishment and looked down the list.

_2\. Dust the main room_

Next! John scratched that one off. He didn't give a shit if things looked a little lived-in.

_3\. Vacuum_

He scratched that off, too. Did Dorian think he was some kind of Molly Maid?

_4\. Set the table_

He looked at the dining table. Dorian had already put the leaves in and there was a linen table cloth folded and waiting. John sighed and unfurled the linen across the table so it settled more or less evenly, wondering why Dorian hadn't already done this. Then he set plates and silverware around. He'd seen nicer place settings, but this was good enough.

Sniffing at the air, John was surprised by how well he could already smell the ham.

_5\. Decorate_

Okay, this was taking things too far. John found bags of pastel colored streamers and a few decorative trinkets in a bag on the coffee table. He put the candle sticks on the dinner table, dumped some plastic eggs into a bowl on the coffee table, and hid the streamers under the kitchen sink.  _Fucking ridiculous_.

Everything else on the list was insulting:

_6\. Get ready for company_

_7\. Put on something nice_

_8\. Smile, John, this will be fun!_

John crashed on the couch and turned on the television, watching a few minutes of  _The Ten Commandments_ which was probably playing on six different channels. That's where he fell asleep.

When John woke, his nose and eyes were burning. The air smelled absolutely horrible and seemed smoky and thick. Dorian was walking into the apartment with a shocked look on his face.

"What is going on, John?" he sounded panicked.

John coughed in response, rubbed at his eyes with his fist, and followed Dorian to the kitchen. A thin but consistent sheet of smoke was billowing from the oven. Dorian examined the touch screen and turned to John gravely. "Why, John! What, wh-wha-" Dorian was rarely at a loss for words and almost never stuttered but this situation was unique. He took a moment to formulate the right sentence. "John," his voice wavered unsteadily with forced patience, "why, why, why are you cleaning the oven with the ham inside?"

"What?" John coughed.

"The oven is cleaning itself."

"Wow!" John had the nerve to sound innocently impressed. "Oven's do that?"

Dorian tried to override the cleaning cycle but it was designed to stay on until it was complete. Inside, the ham was being burned into ash by the 1200 degree temperature. The smell was unbearable.

John's eyes were ringed in red from the noxious smoke as he tried to explain. "I thought it said  _clear_ ," he groaned, "not  _clean_."

"John," Dorian was trying not to lose his temper. "Reading is fundamental."

That Easter, while attempting not to comment on the strange burnt smells in the house, everyone huddled around the dinner table in their coats, shivering from the windows standing open so long, eating Easter pizza.


	13. The O-Course

**The O-Course**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

It's the first nice day in what seems like forever. Well it's the first non-cold, non-miserable day. The ground is still soft and wet and everything is ugly from months of snow-cover, but I am out without my coat and that is a big deal.

I'm stretching. At least, I think I'm stretching. I'm leaning on things and pulling on my foot and arms. Lunging and twisting like an idiot in the trampled grass. I see Dorian smiling at me, admiring me. I wonder if he knows I'm just stalling. I'm sure he knows, but he's not gonna say anything about it. He's all encouragement and smiles, and fucking sunshine.

I look at the police obstacle course in front of me with a disapproving glare. God, I don't want to do this. I'm sure I can't do this anyhow. I'm going to fall on my face or make an ass out of myself. That's why we are here on Easter Sunday, when everyone else is home or at church or visiting relatives. No one is watching me prove a point to Dorian, who has been hassling me about coming here since New Year's Eve when I resolved to start running the course every weekend for a year. If I had known the android took New Year's Resolutions so seriously, I wouldn't have promised so much!

"You ready, John?" he asks, smiling around the words with a childlike innocence that makes it harder for me to be annoyed. He claps his hands like a coach and then pats me on the back. "You can do it, man. I'll time you!"

Fuck, I don't want to be timed.  _Hey John, it only took 13 seconds for your synthetic leg to seize up, or for you to misjudge the location of your fake toes and face-plant into the mud._ The angry voice in my head is mocking me again. I imagine all the things that could and probably will go wrong and feel my cheeks flush with heat.

Still, I'm not going to show this weakness. I nod at Dorian numbly and notice how sharp his eyes are as he looks at me. I don't want him to know that I have been putting this off for months because I'm afraid I can't do it anymore. I'm not the confident kid I was when I first joined the force. In those days, I would tear through this course like it was nothing. Now, well, I've changed. Parts of me are missing, the rest of me is getting old.

Dorian makes a show of saying, "On your mark, get set," and I make a point of starting before he can say "go."

The course starts off with one jogging lap around the outside of the course. This I can do with no problems at all. As I approach the first obstacle, I feel my stomach clench in anticipation. However, I fly through it without trouble. The leg Dorian gave me really does have better push-off and it responds to my signals so seamlessly.

I get through the foot-path, the walls, the climb course, the agility trainer, the strength bars, the crawl course, and the small tests in between. When it is over, I lean forward with my hands on my knees and breathe hard from the exertion. Dorian followed me through even though it did nothing for him. He doesn't crack a sweat and even managed to stay relatively clean. I look like shit. My knees, stomach, chest, and arms are caked with clay-like mud. I can feel the sweat and dirt on my face. It feels good. I didn't fuck up, I made it through.

_I made it through._  The words make my throat catch.

I feel Dorian's fingers land gently on the back of my neck, asking me if I'm okay.

I nod and stand up. I did it. I made it through. I feel my eyes prickle like I'm gonna fucking cry and I stare up at the light blue sky and blink back the emotion. No way, no fucking way and I going to break down over this. I know Dorian is watching so I crack out, "How was my time?" and cringe because my voice sounds like an old radio.

I feel his arm slip behind me and he pulls me into a hug. I experience a brief moment of panic then I remember we're out here alone. No one can see us. I drop my burning arms, aching from exhaustion, and then bring them up to cling to his ribs, resting my filthy forehead on his shoulder.

"I can still do it," I breathe the words out, my voice betrays me, shaky and barely there.

He crushes me to his chest even closer, his hands running up my sweaty shirt and I feel him smiling. "Of course, you can do it," he says, a little bit of shock in his voice, "you can do anything." He really means what he is saying and he looks so concerned. I should have shared my fears. "You did a great job, John."

Look, I've lived under the assumption that my synthetic parts made me weaker, less capable. It might seem like I'm being ridiculous over a bit of exercise, but I've avoided this place like the plague for the last three years. I think of everything else I've avoided and squeeze my eyes shut.

Dorian holds me, making no move to let me go while I compose myself. I breathe in his scent and lean into him with all my weight because he can take it. I lay my heart open to him yet again in this moment of weakness, knowing he'll cradle it and keep it.

Finally, I shake him off me, looking properly embarrassed with myself. I knock the dirt off of my clothes as we walk to the car, feeling his hands brush across my back to help. I shrug and count myself as presentable enough to head to the 'skirts for a cold beer and something deep fried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to NaughtyPastryChef and WeWillSpockYou for taking a look at this story in its lumpy, sour first form and helping me turn it into something much more palatable! Thank you so much, guys!


	14. Green Thumbs

**Green Thumbs**

Their apartment was surrounded by river water and concrete. Dorian tromped around the perimeter on a sunny day off and came back inside.

"Are you patrolling?" John teased. "Is this the changing of the guard?" He snorted at his own joke from the couch where he was sprawled.

Dorian smiled at him and sat down on the end of the couch on top of John's legs because he refused to move them. The human pulled himself free, losing one sock in the process. "You have no yard, no land for growing things."

"It's by design," John informed, "I don't have a green thumb."

The android raised his eyebrows and looked down at his thumbs curiously. He waved the comment away, and said, "I want a vegetable garden."

"I want a million dollars," John quipped back.

Dorian smiled at him and patted his naked foot. "I will build a box on the porch for growing."

"No way," John said, folding his arms over his chest.

Dorian didn't look phased by the dismissal, "Don't worry there will still be room for all the many, many activities you do out there." In all of his time knowing and living with John, the android had never once witnessed the human spending any sustained amount of time on his deck.

"One must ask," John said, stabbing at Dorian's ribs with his big toe, "why you, an android who does not eat, needs to build a vegetable garden."

Dorian seized John's foot in his hand and kissed his big toe, then massaged the warm, fleshy extremity, rotating his thumbs deep into the pads. John closed his eyes and melted against the touch. Dorian was very pleased with this response and continued the motion with brio.

"Oh, fuck," John said, turning so Dorian had a better angle on his foot, purring like an old cat as the android's firm hands rubbed up his calf and massaged the top of his leg with deft hands. "Build a garden, I don't care. Grow lettuce and carrots and peas and lemons, and nuts, and bolts, and oh shit, Dee. Anything else you damn want."

"Thank you, John," Dorian said, working his way up John's thigh with his big hands. John's breath sped up. "I will."


	15. Molar Expedition

**Molar Expedition**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

John woke up on Monday morning and felt as though his lips were fused together with thick, sticky saliva. His teeth were coated in filmy sugar residue and his mouth felt heavy and gross. "Uhhhgh bleuuurgh," he said, rotating his mouth unpleasantly.

Raising a pajama-clad wrist, he dragged across his lips and face, smearing residual, candied drool off his chin. "I need a toothbrush," he croaked, wincing as his back teeth ached with sharp, shooting, almost magnetic pains.

He looked around for Dorian, thinking back on the night before. The Easter basket on the bedstand filled with a half-eaten chocolate bunny, several slowly-hardening marshmallow peeps, and a scattering of jelly beans tangled in plastic green grass. It made his stomach perform a barrel role.

The groggy detective slid to the edge of the bed and hoisted himself up and into the bathroom. He rubbed over his teeth aggressively with his toothbrush and gargled with listerine until his cheeks burned.

Dorian was in the kitchen, chopping away. They had one more day off for the Easter holiday and John had a nice clean mouth.

"Morning sleepy head," Dorian said, using the back edge of his knife to slide chopped celery into a bowl. He set down the cutting board and wiped his hands on his apron before handing John a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of black coffee. "Sugar?" he asked.

John looked a little green and waved his hand, palm out, to say no. He sat down and stared at the oatmeal before pushing it away and focusing all his energy on the coffee.

John rubbed the sand out of his eyes and slid his tongue around his teeth, self-consciously probing each one. "I think I need to make a dentist appointment," he said miserably.

Dorian walked over and gave John a deep kiss, his synthetic tongue passing through John's mouth in a way John wasn't accustomed to. It was hard to get into the rhythm of the kiss. Before he knew what was happening, it was over.

When Dorian broke away his face flashed in blue running lights. "Yep," he said, "You have two cavities."

John stared with his mouth open in shock and fury. He stood up and dumped the oatmeal over Dorian's head, milk and oats running down the DRN's face and neck.

"What did I do?" Dorian called after John as the human stormed off to shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Dorian isn't smooth 100% of the time...


	16. Seasonal Allergies

**Seasonal Allergies**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

John's allergies were flared as he drove the cruiser, sneezing into his elbow again and again. He rubbed at his red, runny nose and moaned for the umpteenth time.

Dorian felt absolutely helpless, holding a box of tissues on his lap for whenever the sniffling man needed one.

"Maybe you should see a doctor?" Dorian offered, booking him an appointment right then and there, the blue lights on his face flashing.

John gave him a suspicious squint with his red-rimmed eyes, "I wasn't born yesterday. Cancel it, Dee."

Dorian sighed, "Am I that predictable?"

John rolled his eyes in his head and sneezed again, reaching over to drag a tissue from the box with a groan. "I don't do doctors," he said, "it's too...it reminds me too much of my time in the hospital after my coma."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and shrugged it off. He wasn't looking for pity, he was looking for a way out of going to the doctor.

"Let's at least get you some medicine," Dorian said, pointing to a drug store up ahead.

John steered the cruiser into the parking lot, agreeing. Anything to stop this conversation.

The harsh overhead lighting in the drugstore made him wince. Easter was in full force and the aisles were bedecked with colorful plastic things, stuffed toys, egg candies, and other frivolous niceties. John passed judgement on all of it as he shuffled past, muttering, "Useless crap," then he stopped short and said, "Ooo peanut butter eggs," and grabbed three bags.

Meanwhile, Dorian was at the pharmacy counter speaking to the tech. He was explaining John's symptoms in full detail while gesturing to the sniffling detective across the room. John felt himself flush with embarrassment. Shopping with Dorian was like shopping with his grandmother when she was still alive. She always gave people too much unsolicited information. She would tell sales representatives when it was his birthday, or where they were going next, or that she recently had surgery.

John hid from view down the shampoo aisle, staring at the colorful, confusing bottles.

When Dorian joined him, the android had an armful of pills, sprays, cough drops, and god only knows what else.

In the car, Dorian instructed John on what to take and how to take it. As much as he hated all the fuss and attention, he felt way better.

However, the medicine made him drowsy. Dorian drove while John snoozed in the passenger seat. When John woke up in his bed a few hours later, feeling better. He tried to be mad at Dorian for drugging him but instead he just curled himself back into the blankets and rested his chin on the DRNs chest, closing his eyes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have allergies so bad right now. Someone please come drug me.


	17. 50 Shades of Purple

**50 Shades of Purple**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Dorian was hit. John tore his eyes from the house where the blasts were ringing out. "Dee?" he called down to Dorian and felt the android yank him down and just out of range of a bullet. Crashing to his knees, John looked over the wounded android who was pulling himself back up to fire more shots over the hood of the cruiser while holding John's head down.

John struggled under the DRN's grip. Dorian took out one of the men who leaned too far around the corner of the window. A thick, purple ooze ran down Dorian's blue coat sleeve, dripping in front of John's face. The detective felt his stomach churn and turn into liquid.

The day he fell in love with Dorian was the day he started hating the color purple in all its shades. Seeing the syrupy insides that helped stick Dorian together dripping out made him sick with worry. He pulled himself out of Dorian's grip and jumped up to help shoot, taking out the other man on a lucky shot. Or Dorian did, it was hard to tell with all the open firing.

It was a holiday weekend, so their backup arrived just in time to be useless, filtering into the house to check on the men inside who were both wounded. John holstered his weapon and turned his attention to Dorian.

"You okay?" he asked, pawing at Dorian's coat and yanking at the buttons to open it.

"John, listen to me," Dorian said, a smile on his face. He felt no pain, only the steady pull at his charge as his system worked in overdrive. "I'm okay, I'm going to need to be repaired and in a moment I'm going to lose power completely." His voice wavered in and out; low, textured, and oddly computerized.

John's eyes scanned him with concern.

"Don't worry, Jooooohhhh-"

Dorian slumped lifeless against the cruiser and John felt panic roil up into his chest. He swallowed it down, examining the bullet wounds that sopped Dorian's gray shirt with streaks of bright purple, the open wounds a mess of wires and sticky liquid in lavender, lilac, plum, violet, and magenta.

He folded gently at the skin to smooth it back down in desperation.

A hand on his shoulder stayed him and he got up while Dorian was picked up by an MX and carried lifelessly away. John followed, pushing past people with questions, nudging his way through the crowd. He wiped his brow, leaving a streak of purple to match the smudges on his cheeks.

A few hours later, Rudy managed to patch Dorian enough to get him back up again. John felt like fresh air was injected into his lungs when he saw those blue eyes pool with life.

Dorian sat up and blinked and smiled. His side was patched with synthetic tape, until the new plate could come in.

"John, you okay?" Dorian asked, sitting up on the table and pulling a fresh shirt over his chest.

John nodded. He was actually a frazzled mess but seeing Dorian up and talking was a relief.

Dorian smiled and licked his thumb then smudged some of the purple grease off John's forehead. "You look like an Easter Egg," he chuckled, right before John silenced him with a crushing kiss.


	18. The Pet and the Pest

**The Pet and the Pest**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Thunder rolled the sky and the cadence of the rain on the windows turned the riverside apartment into a sanctuary of soft sound. It was a pajamas-all-day kind of day. John and Dorian were lounging atop the perfectly made bed, entwined. John was reading his cell-o and Dorian was reading internally, occasionally humming gently to the tune of 20th Century pop songs.

John shifted his body every three or four minutes, unable to find a comfortable reading position. He propped himself up against Dorian in a new way each time, giving little regard to the android.

In his latest move, John ended up with his head on Dorian's thigh and his legs swung over the side of the bed.

Dorian hadn't moved in an hour and was feeling a little dizzy watching John twist and turn.

Dorian was just about to tell him to find a place and land in it when John sat bolt upright, casting the cell-o to the side. "Holy shit!" he said, standing on the bed.

Dorian looked startled. "What is wrong?" he asked.

"I just saw the biggest fucking rat I've ever seen in my whole goddamned life," John shouted, looking around the floor before jumping down and grabbing his gun off the dresser.

Dorian stood up carefully and looked around. "In the house?" he asked, his lips curling in disgust.

John held his gun out like he was ready for anything.

"Maybe not with the gun, John, " Dorian suggested.

John arched an eyebrow and held a finger to his lips. "Shhh," he whispered, "I think it ran into the bathroom." He warily inched toward the open door.

Dorian said, "Really, the gun, though. John."

John went into the bathroom and Dorian heard the ear-popping jolt of a gunshot as the sound ricocheted in the little room, then a loud  _crack_  echoed as the porcelain toilet burst apart. Water sprayed everywhere and a bunny rabbit came hopping out of the bathroom and darted down the hall.

Dorian sighed in relief when he saw the little critter, glad it wasn't a rat. He wondered how the cute thing had escaped its hutch hidden carefully in the back room.

John was soaking wet, attempting to turn off the water on the broken toilet. Dorian gave him a helping hand, giving the shut-off valve a twist and stopping the spray. "Did I get it?" John asked, out of breath.

"You're gonna  _get it_  if you don't stop firing your gun in crazy places," Dorian muttered.

John waved him off, standing in a puddle of water.

"It is a bunny, John," Dorian said. "Not a rat. And no, you didn't get it."

"A rabbit?" John asked, scratching his head while still holding his gun.

Dorian sighed. "It was supposed to be a gift for Easter. It must have gotten out of its cage."

"Wait, wait. Why'd you think I'd want a-" he stammered, waving his arms about in frustration. "Nevermind. Nevermind. I guess this is all  _your_  fault then." He gestured to the broken toilet bowl and the general mess of the bathroom.

Dorian rolled his eyes.

"I will catch the bunny while you get changed," he said. "We have to go to the hardware store and get this fixed."

John nodded, twisting the water out of his shirt and then walked on squishing feet to the bedroom, muttering, "So much for pajamas all day."

When they were back from the store, both spent the rainy afternoon crouched in the bathroom, installing new fixtures. When it was all over, they only had to decide what to do with the bunny.

After much negotiation, a few unthinkable suggestions from John, and noisy compromise, Houdini was allowed to stay for the weekend. And only the weekend - then he would be given a new home in a classroom at the elementary school near the precinct.

That night, as they watched their favorite show, John lay on his stomach on the floor, petting Houdini and feeding him veggies. Dorian had a sneaking suspicion that the bunny was here to stay.


	19. Easter Miracle

**Easter Miracle**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

John awoke groggily and ran a hand over his face, smearing the sleep off and yawning in his bed. He could hear Dorian in the kitchen, noisily making him breakfast. This was Dorian’s M.O. He would get increasingly loud until John dragged himself out of bed. The fucking android thought he was so fucking smart.

John twisted and stretched, scooching to the edge of the bed. He tucked his head down and ran his fingers across the back of his neck and up through his hair, and up…and up. “the hell?” John said, sitting up as his hands explored the long, furry growths protruding out the top of his skull. He fumbled up onto his foot and hopped over to his leg, attaching it and nearly tripping as he dragged it along before it could calibrate, desperate to get to the mirror. He looked at himself, wide-eyed, in the bathroom. Sprouting from his nest of messy hair were two long, floppy ears.

“ _Dorian!_ ” John shouted. He yanked on one of the ears _hard_ and then yowled in pain. He cradled the ear and cut loose with a long, bitter streak of expletives.

“What is happening in here?” Dorian asked, coming in to see John in his sleep shorts, a furious, panicked look on the man’s face. Dorian took a step back when he saw the ears. “Woah, John, you have bunny ears.” He sounded shocked.

John wasn’t buying it. “What did you fucking do to me, Dee?”

“Nothing,” Dorian said, reaching out to touch one of the ears, his fingers gently tugging. John batted him away in frustration. “They are real, Jo-- _woah!_ ” When John turned around, Dorian spotted a fluffy, puff-ball of a tail at the base of his spine, just above the waist of his sleep pants.

“Now what?” John demanded, turning back around right before Dorian’s fingers could reach the adorable appendage.

The android’s face was flashing blue. “You have a tail,” he informed flatly, keeping his emotions under control. However, all he wanted to do was put his hands on that cute little button of a tail.

John spun in a circle trying to see his own backside then settled for turning toward the mirror and raising on his toes so he could see. “Motherfucker,” he spat.

“What is happening to you?” Dorian asked, finally poking at the tail, much to John’s annoyance. “I can’t find any similar situations in my searches.”

“the fuck should I know,” John said, tugging on his new parts furiously.

“It’s an Easter miracle,” Dorian declared.

John’s brows were stitched into deep, dark slants. However, there was something about him that seemed way less angry. Dorian observed him intensely and decided it was the ears. They made him cuter than usual, softer, and silly.

John’s face flushed red. He turned back to the mirror and worried the ears on his head gently. “I can’t go to work like this,” he complained, on the verge of a whine.

Dorian agreed.

John continued to curse wretchedly.

Suddenly, with a little sparkle in the air, a plump little fairy appeared. She wore a dress of shimmering pastel colors and her hair had little juts of twigs, flowers, and leaves. Behind her was a silvery mesh of wings.

Both John and Dorian looked at her with saucers for eyes.

“Well this wont do at all,” she said, her arms folded. The sweet creature wore a livid scowl. “You are the worst one yet, young man.” She had a wand in her hand and as she waved it around to emphasize her words, glittery sparkles trailed from the tip.

“The fucking hell is that thing?” John asked Dorian. Dorian shook his head, he had no idea.

John reached out a finger to poke the tiny woman and got rapped with the sturdy little wand. He drew his hand back, hissing in pain.

“I am a sprite of spring,” the haughty little creature said, adjusting her bodice, “And I am here to fix a mistake.”

“So it was _you_ ,” John accused, raising up a little, “Look I don’t know what the hell you are, but if you don’t fix it right fucking now I’m going to--”

With a wave of her wand, John’s voice disappeared. He gripped at his throat and gasped and sputtered noiselessly.

“That’s better,” she said, tapping her chin. “Hmmmm I wonder if it would work this way?” She teetered her head gently as if weighing her thoughts, “Nah, no one wants an Easter Bunny that can’t talk.”

John mouthed the words Easter Bunny incredulously. Then he started to pinch his own arm, as if attempting to wake up.

Dorian watched, drinking it all in, and slipped a hand behind John to calm him, brushing over the fluffy tail a few times, which John had to admit was obnoxiously soothing. 

The magical woman continued, “I sent my intern out to pick a good Easter Bunny and the best she came up with is you. I can’t have a foul mouthed bunny spoiling the holiday with his sour mood. I don’t know what she was thinking; you aren’t even good with children!”

John was fairly helpless at this point. He sat on the edge of the bathtub with his arms folded.

The fairy sighed, “You were a terrible choice.” She gave him his voice back with a warning look.

“What kind of psychopath goes around just turning people into mythical creatures?” John demanded, his voice cracking a little.

“Most people consider it an honor,” she said stiffly.

“How long does it last?” Dorian asked, sliding a hand up one of John’s silky-soft rabbit ears. John shivered at how good that felt.

“For a few days, usually,” she said, flipping her hand out toward him, annoyed. “But I will turn him back now. I need to find a new bunny in time. Someone less... _like him_.”

John stood up and clapped his hands loudly, close to the little sprite’s wings. It terrified her and she flew to the ceiling by the corner. “I heard enough,” John said, “take away these stupid ears and tail and get the hell out of my bathroom!”

The little creature gave him an indignant glare. “I was going to, but now you are on your own!”

Dorian interjected, “You can’t leave him like this permanently.”

“It will wear off in a few days,” she smirked, “And then you’ll be back to your old boring self.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” John said, exasperated.

“Oh,” the fairy grinned, “when they do fall off, it’s going to itch like crazy.” And with that, she was gone.

“I think I would have been a much better choice for the Easter Bunny,” Dorian said, indignantly, after her departure. He folded his arms and pouted.

John was headed for the kitchen to get some scissors, muttering that he could take care of this himself! 


	20. Dancing Barefoot

**Dancing Barefoot**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Lights from the city caught on the ripples in the bay, making the reflection on the water wink softly. Emerging out of stasis, he shook out his features and checked the time. He had charged longer than usual but that happened on occasion.

Stepping off the power dock, Dorian found flowers all around his charger. There were no vases, they were just piled about on the desk, table, and floor. Bright and beautiful, their stems entwined and carefully stacked. He identified them as he examined them, orchids, primrose, daisies, every bright color of carnation, and the petals of roses. And many more, leading out the door of the back room, wilting slowly on the painted green concrete floor. Dorian stooped to pluck a pink tulip from the pile and turned it gently in his fingers.

Dorian followed the trail of flowers to the living room. Soft music was playing over the system and there were lit candles on the coffee table, their flames waving and low.

John was sound asleep on the couch in a suit and tie, sprawled, snoring loudly, drooling on his clean-shaven cheek.

Curled in John's hand was a small box. Silently, the android dropped the tulip to the floor and took the box gently from John's palm, careful not to wake his sleeping boyfriend.

Inside he found two matching bands. He felt himself smile deeply, beyond his own control. This was truly unexpected. He looked down at his slumbering human partner with satisfaction. A feeling of home.

He removed his ring from the little box and slid it onto his finger. He admired the simple metal band and then the remaining ring in the box.

John's breath hitched and he sighed a short soft noise and turned gently into the couch cushions, his hand worrying his tie, still soundly out. This was the first time the android had seen John in a suit and even though his tie wasn't quite knotted right, his ruthless sleeping left him hopelessly crumpled and wrinkled, and his hair was a mess of too much product, he was a perfect sight to behold.

Dorian reluctantly slid the ring off his finger and placed it back in the velvet box. Then he deftly maneuvered the box back into John's hand. He couldn't take this moment away from his adorable human.

He walked back down the hall, just out of sight, and made a point to stomp around loudly. He listened silently for an interruption in John's snores. No such luck.

Dorian tapped into the frequency of the TV, turning it on remotely and pushing the volume all the way up. The TV blared loudly and Dorian heard John gasp awake and a soft  _thump_ noise of his body falling off the couch and onto the floor.

When he heard the TV turn off, he started down the hallway, calling out, "John?" What's with all the flowers, man?"

What a beautiful sight standing in front of the couch. John's hair was matted up on one side and he was feverishly adjusting and smoothing his suit. One of his pockets was pulled inside out and sticking out like a little bunny ear from his pants.

He patted himself down, stuffing the rogue pocket back inside, looking for something. "Dee," he said breathlessly, turning in a circle and finding the ring box on the couch. He snatched it up quickly, smearing his sleeve across his face to collect the residual sleep that clung there.

Dorian smiled and cocked his head softly, capturing this moment.

John walked the few paces to meet him there, in the middle of the floor. The windows around them offering the glow of the city and the gentle rock of the river. He held up the box, shying away to hide the pink blush invading his face. "Well?" he asked, flushing further, opening the box up. "How about it?"

"Of course," Dorian said, his lip trembling with emotion.

John slipped the ring onto the DRN's finger then placed his own. He kissed his fiancé, their hands entwined, rings rubbing together.

Dorian felt the warm palms of his future husband pulsing with life. John pressed into the steady thrum from Dorian's chest and marveled at the crack of blue light running through his fingers.

They stood gently for a long while, the music indistinct and soft in John's ears, crushing the flower stems under their bare feet. Each one storing the memories in his own way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter! This is the final Easter fic in the "drabble a day challenge." I think I have tormented John enough on this topic, ne? So many Thank Yous to everyone who read and commented on these silly things! I had fun writing them, but I am glad it is over. I am running out of ideas! :D


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